Khajiit Guards Your Back: Unsaid
by solarlunarxiii
Summary: Another tail, another couple in danger. The fight for love now falls on the shoulders of Kiara, the most talented thief in the world, who finds romance in the most unexpected of places. The couple's lives are changed forever...but how can love between a Khajiit and a Nord last in this heartless world? Where do they have to turn?
1. Chapter 1: The Contract

_Hello readers! This is a spin-off of my other tale, "Khajiit Guards Your Back", and I'd like to clarify that you **DO NOT** have to read that story before this, or visa-versa. The two stories are completely separate! If you'd like, the other story is available on my profile. Now without further ado, please enjoy._

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**Chapter 1**: The Contract

The cold hostility of Skyrim's forth era. There were whispers of war, warnings of dragons, and in the Nordic stronghold of Windhelm, these were beginning to get heated. The men were desperate, the women trusted no one, and the need for a clean-cut rogue to clean up the dirty laundry was at its boiling point.

Word traveled quickly in the underground whispers of the Windhelm gossip that an independent thief had set up commissions in town. Only the well-off knew of her location—and only the truly desperate sought her help. Tonight on this late Fredas evening was the one and only opportunity to seek her out, and only one Nord was daring enough to do it. All the rest were either too scared or too proud. The bar was crowded with the usual drunken rabble, the windows were sealed, and a single room remained open in the back with only one occupant inside.

The door opened and quickly as it was shut. Only the silhouettes of both parties were visible under the crack of pale moonlight. The one sitting at the table swished their long black tail back and forth, and most of their body and face was covered by a dark hood that retained their identity.

A sack of jingling coin was slammed on the table. "I hear you're Swiftpaw."

The character sitting at the table leaned back in the chair, "Some call me that."

A sack of jingling coin was thrown on the table by confident Nord. The Khajiit didn't bat an eye.

"…And what is this?" she asked, her face remaining concealed but her tone as sharp as a piercing dagger.

"Your down payment. I seek your services."

Swiftpaw laughed and lounged in the chair, putting her boots up on the table and curiously resting her fingers under her chin. "I offer many services, stranger. What I can offer you rests solely on what you're seeking."

There was no other chair for the client to sit, so he remained standing and leaned in to the other side of the table. "I need you to seek out information for me. And after that, I want you to steal."

"And which comes first?" Swiftpaw replied coyly.

"I need you to gather Intel on somebody, tell me what you know, and then rip anything else valuable from under his sweaty hands."

Swiftpaw sat back upright in her chair and rested her arms on the table, "I can do this. Who is the person in mind?"

The client shook his head, "Wait, I have a few questions first."

"Ha! Of course you do. Make them quick. My time is valuable."

"Everybody says you work alone, but I am no fool. So tell me upfront—who is your boss?"

"You are a fool to insinuate." Swiftpaw said adamantly. "I work for no one. It would be wise for you, Fenrik, to learn not to question those you ask for help. It could save you your head one day."

The man gasped in a surprised panic. His once smart and arrogant voice had now slipped into fear and worry. "How do you know my name?!"

"I do not do business with strangers. I am a thief of honor. Too long had I done contracts for the Thieves Guild for slimy clients who wanted to worsen the lives of the poor. I put that all behind me. I am the best thief in Skyrim—and you will do _well _to remember that before you question me or my motives ever again. Are we clear?"

Swiftpaw could hear Fenrik's gulp from across the room. She had him hanging by the nails on his toes. She learned a long time ago that she didn't deserve to take disrespect from anybody who was paying her. She knew she was the best; she didn't_ need _to help any of the Windhelm fools. She came out of the generosity of her heart and the loneliness of her empty pocket. Fenrik gave a meager nod and mumbled to Swiftpaw, "We're clear…ma'am."

"Good. Now tell me about the target."

Hesitantly, Fenrik waved his finger once more, "Before that…I have one last question."

Swiftpaw glared her striking yellow eyes. If he didn't get the message, she would kick him out the door. But she was a polite Khajiit, so she decided to give him once more chance. "…Very well."

"There's no beating around the question I suppose." He said calmly. He leaned in closer and whispered very plainly and straight-forward, "…Do you kill?"

Swiftpaw remained calm, "No. If you want murder, go burn some candles."

"Just thought I'd ask."

The idea of murder sickened her to the very core. Taking material possessions was a frivolous job she did to make ends meets—but taking a human's life was against everything she held dear. She may be a thief, but her parents taught her to value the virtues of the Divines above all others. No matter what, she would never fault on those truths.

Fenrik sat up straight in his chair. This is obviously his attempt at making an impression, not that it made an ounce of difference, but it was entertaining to see him squabble. "His name…is Traven Strong-Heart."

"Strong-Heart? You Nords and your surnames…" Swiftpaw commented, though she didn't let on as much as he knew. She recognized the name well. While she herself had never heisted them, she heard stories during her days at the Thieves Guild of the Strong-Heart's reputation in the hold, and the father's heavy financial influence on the rise of the High King. They were well off, but she had no intention of telling Fenrik this information just yet.

"Well, I need this one squashed out." Fenrik responded, "He's a new student at the Ysgramor Academy. He's stirring up controversy, and I need to find out his weakness so I can make him shut up. For good."

"I thought I told you— I won't get a man killed. I'm not in the business of death."

Fenrik shook his head rapidly in haste like a worried little child, "No, I don't need him _dead_, I need him gone. But that isn't any of your concern—I just need to know something I can use. What happens after that isn't your responsibility."

This proposition Fenrik was presenting before her wasn't he most idea situation—but Swiftpaw chose to go with it. At the end of the day, she had little interest in the petty politics of the Nords; this was a situation where she only wanted the coin.

Fenrik continued, "I need you to get close to Traven. Talk to him, see what his motives are and what goes through his head. Once you're in, you're to investigate his weak spot. Bring all this information to me, and then I'll have you swipe anything he values in order to keep his mouth shut. It'll be a warning."

"I am a _thief_, Nord, not a con-artist." Swiftpaw hissed. Her patience with this fool was slowly thinning. "Stealing in Phase 2—fine. But what in the world makes you think that _me_—" Swiftpaw slammed her sharpened claws on the delicate wood, "—a Khajiit with sharp deadly claws and piercing yellow eyes, will be able to get close with a political Nord attending the Ysgramor Academy? It's not possible. So, once again, you've come to the wrong Khajiit."

"You don't understand!" Fenrik demanded, "It's _because_ you are a cat that I—"

Swiftpaw interrupted forcefully, "_KHAJIIT. _We are not your house cats. We are PEOPLE."

"–FINE, _Khajiit_!" Fenrik grunted, "You are the perfect infiltrator to get what I need. It has to be you."

"Explain yourselves."

Sweat was pouring down Fenrik's pathetic face and the intensity of the conversation was making his face swell up with blood. "I can't. Not yet. I have the whole plan set up—you're going to pretend to be a beggar. This guy is a goody two-shoes, it won't be hard to earn his sympathy. It won't be difficult—you just have to trust me."

Swiftpaw wasn't happy about having secrets kept from her, but this was the best she was going to get out of this snake and she knew it. She decided to change the subject, "Let's talk about coin."

Fenrik gestured to the coin purse on the table, "That has 1,000. I'll get you another 4,000 when the job is done."

Swiftpaw smirked, "You're asking me to work outside of my usual zone. It'll be double. 2,000 up front, 10 when finished."

"You can't be serious!"

"You want the job done, you pay my price. That is my answer."

Fenrik slammed his fist on the table angrily, "No! You will not haggle with me! I'm the one with the upper hand here _cat_, so you'll do it my way or—"

Swiftpaw had heard enough. Like a deer leaping from the hunter's arrow, she shed the hood from her face and leaped into the air, doing a spin the air before landing behind Fenrik and kicking his legs so he collapsed on the floor. She grabbed him by his shirt collar and held a dagger straight to his throat. She had him trembling on the wooden floor.

She hissed sharply in his ear, "I thought I told you never to call me that again, Nord."

Fenrik was shaking. Swiftpaw could see his wrinkly eyes practically bulging out of his head. She remained speechless, and Swiftpaw was done with his games. "Now," she whispered, "You're going to put another 1,000 Septims on that table, or I'll strip you of everything you own."

Fenrik did as she said, and slowly reached into his pocket and took out another nicely wrapped coin purse. Swiftpaw snatched the entire thing. She loosened the dagger's grip, "Good. I'd be happy to accept your proposition. Now, _GET OUT." _

"Swiftpaw, I—"

"—And my _name_, is _Kiara._"

The grip on Fenrik was released and he slammed onto the ground, quickly scrambling to his feet and running out the door as fast as he could.

The commotion caused the inn-keeper and several other curious wonderers scramble into the empty room… but nobody was inside.


	2. Chapter 2: Reconnaissance

**Chapter 2**: Reconnaissance

"Alright…" Kiara whispered to herself, "Where are you, Strong-Heart?"

It was an enlightening morning out in the open of Windhelm. Not comparable to Vvardenfell mornings by Kiara's standards, but a refreshing change from the usual melancholic drool of Skyrim. Kiara had located Ysgramor Academy and was doing reconnaissance nearby, lurking the shadows and keeping a watchful eye. To the clever guardsmen, Kiara looked like a lowly homeless girl taking a rest in the shade. But Kiara had a mission, and she wanted to get this over with as soon as possible. She was hoping to use the extra Septims she haggled for to leave the frozen province as soon as possible. The weather was horrible for thievery.

Kiara was the kind of Khajiit that people feared—not because of what she did, but because nobody knew how to find her. Anybody who dared try to track her down was quickly heisted themselves, losing often half of their life savings. Kiara could make a person bankrupt in less than 24 hours—she did it often. This was going to be a quick and easy heist: know the target, get close, and finish the job.

Fenrik had given Kiara a plan, all she had to do was do it. She'd already planned out her emergency escape route from Windhelm, so should things so wrong, she knew exactly how she would escape. The plan was for Kiara to imitate a beggar to try and locate the Nord. Kiara didn't understand how it was supposed to help—every Nord she'd ever met would cut her tail with an axe before putting coin in her hands. Was this one different?

As for her disguise, Kiara left most of her equipment in the closet of the inn, save for a dagger and a torn apart brown robe she saved for long ventures through the mountains. She kept the hood over her, even though word had whispered around town that a great thief was in town, she didn't fear at all for her identity. She had never been a wanted person. She'd hardly even been seen in person before. Unless these Nords had connections all over Tamriel, she would be safe.

For good luck, Kiara grasped the amulet of Stendarr she kept around her neck and began to ask for forgiveness for the crimes she would soon commit. While all the Divines were as important to her, Kiara kept Stendarr close. As the God of mercy, her only prayer was that come the day she meet her fate, the Divines find forgiveness in all the crimes she's committed. This was the path she was drawn to, and not a day went by that she didn't wish things could be different. She'd never been caught and never been killed, so perhaps her routinely prayer to the Gods was a sign that they were content.

The hourly bells rang, and the doors to the academy opened. This was her chance. With emphasized lethargy, Kiara emerged from her spot in the corner and began to wonder towards the entrance. The campus was quite elegant, there was a large staircase leading up towards the towering double doors, and overlooking it all was a statue to Ysgramor standing triumphantly in the center of a fountain. As students began to haste down the steps, Kiara made her move.

"'Scuse me, sir…" Kiara choked towards a younger looking man, "Spare some coin for a cold homeless woman?"

Kiara was rudely ignored. She continued to the next one, "Please, spare coin?"

This Nord was even ruder than the last, "Take your begging to the grey-district, filth!"

'_Filth_,' Kiara thought, '_How original_.'

One by one, Nord after Nord completely dismissed Kiara's presence. It was beginning to get frustrating—how long would she have to do this? And why was this a good idea in the first place? Either this "Traven" wasn't in school today, or this whole thing was one giant setup. Kiara was suspecting the latter.

"Change? Spare change, sir?"

"Get lost or I'll call the guards!"

This place was truly heartless. And they called this the heart of Skyrim? No wonder this place was on the brink of war.

But just before Kiara was ready to give up, her ears eavesdropped on a rather interesting conversation. It was coming from behind her, but Kiara didn't dare turn around. A younger male's voice said, "Looks like Traven's getting ready to make another campaign to the High King. Who wants to bet he gets thrown out like last time?"

Traven. That was Kiara's target. She acted casual and continued to listen.

"I'd wager if she tries one more time, he'll get thrown out of the whole city. Rumor has it there are people in the city very eager to get rid of him." Said a deeper voice.

Kiara smirked under her hood.

"Don't blame 'em. People like that give us _true _Nords a bad name. He wants to lick the boots of the empire? Go move to Solitude."

The other man laughed, "Ha! Better yet, move out of the whole country. Or since he loves those dirty greys so much, he might as well move in with them."

_Dirty Greys_? Was he talking about the Dumner? This information was quite interesting to Kiara—Traven's peers looked down on him? Was he a sympathizer?

"Oh look, here he comes now!"

Kiara wanted to jerk around as quickly as she could, but she knew that would draw to much attention. Kiara's quick wit began to place this situation together—If what those men said was true, Traven must be trying to do something about the Dumner being segregated in the Grey Quarter. Maybe this was why she was undercover—to grab Traven's attention the fastest.

If Traven was really nearby, the rest was all going to fall into place. Kiara continued to beg, knowing it would likely draw Traven over, if all the facts were true. "A coin for a cold homeless woman? Please, sir, anything will do."

The conversation continued some ways behind Kiara, as the deeper voiced Nord started to call out, "Hey Traven, how's your old pal The King doing?"

There was no response.

The other Nord shouted next, "Traven! I found some ash in my shoe in the other day, did you want me to give you a sample?"

Still nothing. Regardless, Kiara continued her begging. "Spare change? Please, sir, could you spare some Septims for my breakfast?"

"TRAVEN! Quick, I think heard a Dark Elf sneeze, you better go make sure they don't start a plague!"

Suddenly, Kiara was startled by a hand touching her shoulder—she had to tell herself not to overreact and pull out the knife she kept in her pocket. She heard the person behind her say, "Excuse me?"

Kiara turned around. A very trim and proper Nord was giving her an unfamiliar look—he seemed to be concerned. His eyes were grayish blue like the sky, and his hair was neatly cut in addition to a well shaven face. He didn't seem angry like Kiara expected when someone approached her, but rather soft. Could this be him?

"I didn't mean to startle you." The man said, he had a Nordic accent, but it was different coming from a polite tone. It wasn't as harsh. "Are you ok?"

Kiara had to think of a response quick. She had to remember she was undercover—she was a beggar. She had to play nice. "Oh, I'm just a woman looking to eat is all, sir."

"You look shivering." The man said softly, "Please, let me take you somewhere to warm up. Trust me, you won't have any luck asking these men for help."

Kiara couldn't abandon her position unless this was really him, she had to ask. "W-Who are you, kind sir?"

He smiled, "I'm Traven Strong-Heart of the Whiterun Strong-Hearts. More importantly, I'm a decent human being who isn't going let you stand here in the cold all day."

So it was him. What Fenrik was said was starting to make sense. Kind willed people like this didn't last a day in Skyrim, no wonder the Nords wanted him gone. Part of Kiara was sad she was going to have to steal from him, but she needed the money, and she didn't even fully believe his intentions just yet. But the fact remained that she had to go along with him and go wherever he wanted to take her—which went against her entire ethic—but it was part of the plan.

"What is your name?" Traven asked.

Kiara started to double take. She couldn't tell him her real name—what she going to say? Coming up with fake names on the spot wasn't her strong suit.

Traven, surprisingly, smiled. "Haha, I apologize, you don't have to tell me. I should learn to respect a stranger's privacy. People do come to Windhelm for vastly different reasons."

That was an unexpected response. Still, Kiara wasn't about to let him change his mind, so she smiled back and changed the subject, "Thank for your concern, but truly all I need is a spare coin to get me through the day, is all."

Kiara had a feeling Traven wasn't going to turn away that easily, which is why she wanted to test his drive. She was curious to know how much of a social advocate he really was, it could be useful for getting into his house safe later. Surely, all the _kind_ people in Skyrim couldn't possibly be wealthy. That would just be ironic.

Traven put his hips casually on his hips, "Now, don't make me say it again. With all due respect miss, I can't stand by and watch those in need struggle. Please, let me help you."

It had been a long time since Kiara had such kind words said to her.

Kiara gave a small nod to Traven, "I suppose, if you insist."

"Excellent." Traven said, proceeding to guide her away from the campus. Kiara actually wasn't that cold, but for added effect, she decided to move at a slower pace to make herself look more meager. It felt wrong, but she had no choice.

There was still the possibility he just wanted to get her away from the school so it wouldn't make a scene at the precious institution. In fact, that was all Kiara could expect. Nobody was this nice. Nobody in this province liked Khajiits. They weren't welcome here, Kiara knew that.

"Where are we going, if I may ask?" Kiara mumbled.

"The Argonian Assemblage. It isn't ideal, but I'm sure there will be a bed and a warm fire there for you to sleep." Traven replied kindly.

A bed? Argonians? None of these was supposed to happen. Kiara was getting frustrated, why did he have to be so _nice_? It was throwing off her whole plan. She just needed to find out where he lived so she could get what she needed, get her pay, and get out of the city. This was complicating everything. The divines frowned heavily on liars, and Kiara was slowly becoming one. It was going to take a lot to be forgiven for this one.

Kiara didn't respond, so Traven continued, "How does that sound?"

"I…I don't know if I can accept such kindness." Kiara said.

Traven grew a smile and chuckled hardily, "Nonsense! Everyone deserves the same opportunity as the rest of the world. At the very least, we all deserve a warm fire."

Kiara _really _didn't want to spend the night in an enclosed area with the segregated Argonians. She liked Argonians just fine, but Kiara wasn't much of a public person. She preferred sleeping outside, no matter the weather. She was just used to it.

"It sure is a nice morning here, don't you agree?" Traven said warmly.

Kiara smiled, "Yes it is. Though I have seen a more beautiful sunrise."

"Oh, certainly. This place is awful to the eye. But Whiterun? If you waken early enough to see the dawn, the mountains shiny with rays of violet and orange. Have you ever been there?"

Kiara thought back to a heist she performed at the Gray-Mane's estate. It was back in her days of the thieves guild, and even though she dreaded the trek to Riften, she still took in the sunrise as she was heading east towards the mountains. But she didn't have time to tell Traven all that, so she simply said, "No, but I hear it's beautiful."

"The best view in the empire, if you ask me." Traven said. Kiara took note that he referred to it as an 'empire'—given the current political climate of the Nords, perhaps he wasn't even on their side.

They were approaching the gate to the docks, and Traven asked, "Where do you have to sleep right now?"

Kiara had to lie, "I've just arrived in the city today."

"That settles it then." Traven grinned, "Shahvee and the others will make sure you get settled. I assume Windhelm wasn't your first destination, but while you are here, I'll be damned if you don't feel welcome."

She didn't want to test the waters too greatly, but Kiara asked regardless, "What drives you to be so kind to me? I've never met a Nord who cared if I lived or died."

Traven smiled, "Well miss, you must know the wrong type of Nords."

After Traven opened the rusty iron door for her, the two stepped outside the city and were walking along the docks. Kiara got a view of the snowy mountains—a first since she'd be in city. Windhelm was built like a cage, you were lucky to even see a speck of wildlife. Out in the docks, there were a handful of Argonians working on various crafts. One was attempting to fish, others were washing clothes and flattening hides. Despite the refreshing change of scenery, Kiara detested forcing these people to do such extraneous labor. What kind of city was this? Did these Nords do anything for themselves?

"We're almost there." said Traven as they were walking along the frostbitten cobblestone, "I'd stay to help you get settled, but I have a class to attend shortly. Do you think you can go inside on your own?"

"Yes, but—"

"Let me go tell Shahvee that you're here, she'll get you something to eat and build a fire for you inside." Traven said hastily.

Kiara needed to interject, "I—"

"Shahvee is a sweetheart, just don't get on her bad side and she'll treat you like her own child. Oh, what else…"

"I, I don't think—"

"Oh! When you're inside, don't be alarmed at the box of bees. Scouts-Many-Marshes does alchemy experiments in his spare time."

Kiara spoke up a little louder, "Traven?"

He finally stopped his train of thought, "Oh? My apologies, what is it?"

Kiara really didn't want to house with the Argonians—it would just be building on this lie she was already uncomfortable with. The less people involved, the better. "I…I don't think this is a very good idea. I do appreciate your generosity, but I think I would be more comfortable in say, a tent?"

Traven paused and put his hand to his chin to ponder. "If it will make you more comfortable, I suppose. But the Argonians really don't bite—Scouts makes excellent ginger cookies."

Kiara chose to smile, "I might take him up on that offer, then."

"Alright, you can sleep outside but you have to promise me one thing—" Traven continued, "You have to go inside and warm up until I get off out of school. I won't let you stay out here and freezing without letting me build you a proper fire."

Kiara nodded. It was a reasonable request. And to be honest, she was getting a little cold. "I can do that. Thank you, Traven."

A bell rang in the distance, much like the one heard a few minutes earlier. Traven twisted around sharply, "That's my cue, and I need to head off. I'll be back later today. Stay warm, ok?"

Traven said all of these things while pacing backwards out of the docks. He seemed in such a hurry that he almost tripped over an Argonian woman ironing a sword. Kiara only gave a quick farewell gesture before he turned around and started to jog away.

Kiara didn't know what to think of Traven's first impression. He seemed nice, but was it genuine? The oddity of a Nord helping an alleged homeless Khajiit was something simply unheard of. None of these Nords were that nice, were they? Kiara hadn't been here long, but she heard many a ramble from her family back in Vvardenfell about hostility they faced whenever they crossed the border for something. The whole province held itself to a high degree of supremacy—or so she thought. Perhaps there could be exceptions.

She did as she promised and went inside the other door there was, which she assumed to be the assemblage. There was nobody inside, since they were all working in the docks, but it was so much warmer than the frigid winds from outside. Kiara didn't understand why they didn't do their crafting inside where it was more relaxing. The Assemblage was very cozy, the warmth from the previous night's fire was still circulating through the room and there were quite a beds and tables for Kiara to rest on. She didn't want to impose however, so she just grabbed a book from the shelf and took a seat at the table.

This entire operation was starting to feel uneasy. Traven was a nice man, but Kiara still had a job. As much as she knew the divines were above, glaring with disappointment, she didn't have a choice. She was a thief. This was her profession, this was what she was best at and this is how she was going to make it in the world. Surely, the divines couldn't frown on her for that.


End file.
